


Every Step You Take

by bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: Joffrey suspects Sansa of being unfaithful. She isn’t, or at least wasn’t, until she met the detective he hired to follow her.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa glanced in her rearview at the black sedan that was tailgating her. “Oh, fuck no,” she cursed as she caught a glimpse of the driver. If she wasn’t mistaken, and she was _never_ mistaken, it was the same dark-haired man who she’d ran into at the grocery store yesterday, the same man who she saw outside the gym last week, and a dozen other places this month alone. Emotion reigning over rationality, Sansa slammed on the brakes and put her car in park, blatantly disregarding the fact that she was now blocking traffic. She got out of her car and went to his, banging loudly on his window until he rolled it down. Before doing so, she noticed him throw a jacket over the junk covering his passenger seat. If she had a cooler head, it would’ve registered that he was covering his camera, his _powerful_ camera, and a listening device. Maybe she would’ve realized that stalker or no, accosting other drivers in the middle of the road was not a safe situation to get herself into. But she inherited her mother’s temper along with her looks and she wasn’t in a mood to let this one go.

“Hey!” She shouted as soon as he inched down his window enough to hear her. She slapped the glass again, anger overpowering the stinging pain in her palm. “Why are you following me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. If you could move your car—” he said, as a car behind them blared its horn.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’ve been stalking me for weeks. Don’t think I haven’t seen you around, you- you pervert!” She aimed a kick at his tire for good measure but in her heels she overbalanced. She only managed to stub her toe as she fell flat on her ass. Great.

In a flash, the stalker was out of his car, standing over her, asking if she was alright and reaching to help her up.

Sansa yanked her arm away from him as she scowled up into his face, his annoyingly handsome face. Creeps should have to common decency to look the part. Greasy hair and oily skin, not perfectly disheveled curls and piercing eyes. “I don’t need your help.” She struggled to her feet to emphasize her point, shucking off her shoes as she did so. The right heel had separated from the sole during her fall. Ugh, these were favorites too, the ones that made her feel confident and sexy. Another reason to be pissed at this stranger. “And now you’ve ruined my shoes. What the fuck do you want with me?”

The man closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Ok, you got me,” he sighed. “I’ve been following you but it’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” She jabbed at his chest with the heel of her broken shoe. In her heels, she would’ve been eye to eye with him. Another annoyance. She was tall for a woman and was unused to looking up at anyone. It was a lot harder to feel in control when she was eyelevel with his chin.

He grabbed her by the arm and led her back to her vehicle. “Not here. Meet me at the bar around the corner, 10 minutes.”

Sansa’s rational mind was slowly starting to take back over. This man just admitted to stalking her and now he wanted to be alone with her? This raised serious red flags. But it was a public place. And she was curious. She agreed and clambered back into her car. When she reached the bar, she took a quick photo of the exterior and posted it to her instagram. Just in case she were to go missing, the police would be able to track her last known location easily. Sure, it was a little paranoid but better to err on the side of caution. With her insurance in place, she boldly entered the bar (or as boldly as she could in her bare feet).

It was quiet in here, nearly deserted in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. A couple of regulars on the barstools watching sports and a lone bartender wiping down the glasses. That made her a little nervous but the woman behind the bar seemed personable enough. If anything should go wrong with her stalker, at least she had witnesses. Jeez, when had she gotten so morbid? She made her way to a booth in the back and waited.

He was only a few minutes behind her, and like any practiced stalker, his eyes found her immediately. Not even pretending to patronize the establishment, he made his way straight to the back and slide in across from her. “Let me explain,” he said, interrupting her before she could start yelling at him again.

“I’m a P.I., a detective. Someone hired me to tail you.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and slid it over to her.

She turned it over in her hands. _Jon Snow – Private Investigation_. It looked legitimate but it was only a business card after all. Not like it was a badge or a license. Do P.I.s even have licenses? She would have to look into that. “Am I allowed to know who hired you?”

Her stalker, Jon, ran a hand through his shaggy hair. Clearly he was as unsure of this situation as she was. “I shouldn’t. I’m risking my job just talking to you.”

“Maybe if you were better at your job,” she couldn’t help but needle him. Seeing him nervous helped put her at ease.  “I mean, I thought P.I.s weren’t supposed to be seen.”

“Maybe you look over your shoulder too much. Most people don’t notice me. I wonder, what are you looking for?”

He was trying to distract her, to get her off-topic. But she would get her answers out of him, one way or another. Being direct wasn’t working but there were other ways of getting men to talk. If she opened up to him a little bit, maybe he would feel like opening up to her, so she talked. “A few years ago, my husband and I were attacked. We were out for a walk in the city when one of his former employees, a disgruntled man, he’d just been let go, came at us with a knife.” Sansa let her voice quake for effect and ran a knuckle across her eye as if she was brushing away a tear. Jon seemed to be buying into her trauma, his brows knit together in concern. In reality, it was nothing quite so harrowing. A man drunkenly hollering with a switchblade drawn. It could have been worse if it weren’t for Sandor Clegane, Joffrey’s bodyguard. The big man tackled the attacker to the ground and he was quickly picked up by police. “I suppose I’ve been a little paranoid ever since.”

His hand on the table twitched, he almost took her hand to console her as she recounted her story. “That must have been a really trying experience for you, Mrs. Baratheon.”

Sansa glanced up sharply at the used of her married name. Of course he knew her name but it was a little jarring to be addressed so when she never introduced herself. And being called ‘Mrs.’ by someone her own age just made her feel old. “Sansa, please.”

“I don’t think I should. I’m already crossing a line here.”

“So cross another. Please. I prefer it.”

“Alright. Sansa.”

She liked the way he said her name. Joffrey always hissed through the S’s, but Jon murmured them, like a summer breeze through the trees. God, that was stupid. She can’t let herself get flustered over one word. “And I can call you Jon?”

He nodded, resigned to forgo any lingering shreds of professionalism. “Yeah, sure.”

“So Jon, how long have you been following people?”

“It’s more than just following people,” he said defensively. “There’s a lot of research that goes into it. Checking phone records, bank statements, internet history. Following is usually a last resort.”

Sansa filed that information away, wondering what in her own records might be incriminating. Of course, she didn’t even know what her ‘crime’ was.

“I’ve been doing private investigation for two years now. Before this, I worked for the police, detective.”

“This line of work is a calling for you then.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“I’m curious what motives a person to do this.” She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, watching him with interest. “Big fan of The Hardy Boys growing up?”

He chuckled. “No, it was those old film noir detective movies. You know, the fedora and trench coat kind of guys.”

“And is real life anything like the movies?”

“Not even a little bit. You never saw Bogie rooting through people’s trash cans.”

“Glamorous,” Sansa said with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly what I expected.”

“But you like it.”

“I’m good at it,” he offered instead. She raised an eyebrow in question and he continued, “There are things I like about my job and things I hate. Sometimes, yeah, it’s helping get people out of trouble, but mostly it’s bad news. Ruining lives, breaking up marriages—”

Jon met her eye on that last word and he knew immediately he messed up. Sansa realized who he was working for but she needed him to confirm.

She prodded again. “Who hired you?”

“You don’t want to know. I told him the same thing when he came to me. There’s some questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Tell me.”

“Your husband.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three months earlier, Joffrey Baratheon had come into the office and Mance directed him to Jon’s desk. His coworkers teased that the boss favored him so much because Jon was the son he never had (ignoring the fact that he had a toddler at home), but after meeting this particular client, Jon couldn’t help but feel he was being punished for something.

“What can I do for you?” Jon asked as the client approached his desk.

“My wife’s having an affair,” he said with absolute confidence.

“Oh.” This was Jon’s least favorite type of case. Man wants to know if his wife’s being unfaithful. Truth is, if you’re asking the question, you probably already know the answer and there’s no comfort in the proof. “Listen, man. You don’t want me to do this. Trust me, I’m turning down a paycheck here. Don’t do this.”

He narrowed his cold green eyes. “Are you an investigator or not?” The man sneered. “I want you to investigate my wife. I’ll pay double your fee and extra for any proof you can bring me that the slut is fucking another man.”

Jon was taken aback by his strong language. It wasn’t so much the words that were strange but the tone. It’s just, he’d dealt with his fair share of wronged spouses before and this man’s reaction to infidelity was like nothing he’d ever seen. Most often the anger was rooted in hurt; hurt by the betrayal, scared of a future alone. But Jon couldn’t find the pain under Mr. Baratheon’s rage. It was a dark and ugly thing and Jon was suddenly filled with concern for this man’s poor wife. “What makes you think that she’s, uh, committing adultery?” He asked, gesturing for him to sit.

Joffrey gave the worn desk chair a disgusted look and remained standing. “She recently changed her perfume.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t see how that—”

“She’s been wearing the same scent for years, since before I met her.”

“Ok.” Jon took down notes on a legal pad. Sure, maybe his wife changed perfumes for her lover or maybe she just wanted something different. It wasn’t damning. “What else?”

“Last month, she spent three hundred dollars on lingerie. But I’ve been through her wardrobe, there’s nothing new.”

“Perhaps she’s going to surprise you on a birthday or anniversary?” Jon wouldn’t deny that what Joffrey recounted _could_ support his claim but it wasn’t irrefutable evidence. There could be, and likely was, a simpler answer. In cases like these, Jon had something of a moral code. He at least had to make a token effort to discourage spouses from poking around. A rule made after a scorned husband decked him one for proving his wife was sleeping around with not just one man but multiple, including her boss and his brother. His jaw still clicked in cold weather. So much for not shooting the messenger. “Have you tried talking to your wife?”

“So she can lie to my face?” he spat. “No. Just get me what I need.”

Jon clenched his jaw and agreed to take the case. He had to, he wasn’t exactly in a position where he could turn down a paycheck, but having to answer to this guy was a sour prospect. Hopefully he could find something quickly and be done with this.

As with any case, Jon spent the first few weeks gathering information about his target. She was pretty, Sansa Baratheon. Not that that counted for anything, pretty people cheated same as ugly ones. He started his search online. It was really ridiculous how many affairs came unraveled just because they couldn’t keep things offline. But Mrs. Baratheon was clean. Her facebook consisted mostly of posting recipes and sharing silly articles from fashion blogs. On their last anniversary she shared a wedding photo #blessed. The only people she messaged were her friends and family. It wasn’t too hard to get transcripts of her chats and frankly, they were all boring as hell. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… there was one message sent to a Margaery Tyrell, right after Valentine’s Day. _[idk sometimes it feels like… not the Happily Ever After I thought it would be.]_ However, that was the extent of the conversation, she immediately changed topics, and nowhere else did he find her expressing any other doubts about her relationship. All of her other social media platforms were equally innocuous.

Once her online presence was cleared, Jon moved on to her bank statements and credit card purchases. If she spent extra money on gas one week, it might imply she’s driving more than usual, maybe meeting her paramour out of town. If she’d been careless enough to use her card to rent a motel room… Anything, restaurants or stores outside of her normal radius. But the only suspicious purchase was the lingerie that her husband already noted and she’d only left town once, about a month before Joffrey came to him with the case and that was for a friend’s wedding. She’d been the Matron of Honor, there were plenty of photos confirming where she was for pretty much every minute of the weekend.

Not that Jon was hoping to uncover an affair, but he was frustrated at his lack of progress on this case. Joffrey Baratheon had come in seeming so damn assured that something was going on. That assurance had to come from somewhere, so why the hell couldn’t he find anything?

“Hey, Tormund, can you look over this case for me?"

“What, World’s Greatest Detective has an unsolvable case?” He barked as he took the envelope from Jon’s hand.

“Something like that. This guy’s convinced his wife’s stepping out on him, but, I dunno, maybe I’ve just been looking at it too long, but I don’t see it. I need fresh eyes on it.”

“Hmph,” he grouched as he poured out the contents of the envelope onto his already cluttered desk, all the information Jon had gathered over the past month, every chat, every receipt, every phone call she’s ever made. The big man sifted through the pages until he found a photo and grinned. “Heh, kissed by fire. Just your type, Snow,” he said, elbowing Jon sharply in the ribs.

“That is not—” You date one red-head and no one lets you forget it. “She’s married, for god’s sake!”

“Not for long if her hubby hired you.”

Jon sputtered, “Th-that is unethical and completely unprofessional and- and-” _creepy as hell?_ No, she was a million times off limits.

“Har!” He slapped Jon on the back. He knew it was a sign of affection, but, damn, Tormund’s affection always left bruises. “Only teasing, Snow. Ease up. I’ll look over your case.”

He let out a sigh of relief, aching though it did after Tormund knocked the wind out of him. “Thanks, man.”

Jon, for the life of him, couldn’t find any dirt on Sansa Baratheon. Not only no evidence of an affair, but no evidence of any wrong doing at all. As far as he could tell, this woman has never so much as jaywalked across the street. He couldn’t decided if he was annoyed or relieved. This was his first adultery case that might not end in divorce, which was definitely good (this job really soured a man’s perspective on marriage), but on the other hand, he felt like he was missing something obvious. People don’t start suspecting their spouses out of thin air, but thin air was all he could find.

But with Tormund’s second opinion supporting his own, Jon accepted it to be truth that Sansa Baratheon was nothing short of devoted to her husband. Armed with everything he’d found in his search, he was prepared to tell Joffrey so when they met again.

“Mr. Baratheon, please, sit.”

Joffrey didn’t. Instead he reached across the desk for the file folder resting there. “What have you got for me?”

Irritated at his presumptiveness, Jon pulled the folder out of his hand. It wasn’t the Baratheon file and even if it was, there was a certain level of confidentiality expected as a detective. He stored that case file away in the drawer and pulled out the right folder. “To tell the truth, not a lot. I think you’ve got a good one there.”

Contrary to the relief he expected, Joffrey’s face twisted in anger. He slapped the file out of Jon’s hands, papers flying across the office. The others in the room weren’t even trying to be subtle as they gawked at the scene. “What the hell am I paying you for? It’s a pretty simple thing I asked you to do. Give me proof that my wife’s whoring around.”

Jon was at a loss for words. Wasn’t this good news? “I- I tried but there just _isn’t_ any.”

He jabbed a finger at Jon’s chest. “Follow the bitch. Catch her on her goddamn knees. I don’t care what you have to do, just get me the results I need.”

Jon tried to talk him out of it twice now and he wasn’t fool enough to try for three. Fine, if this ass refused to accept the truth, Jon wasn’t going to keep trying to point it out to him. If he wanted to keep throwing money at this lost cause, there was no reason Jon shouldn’t use it to his benefit. Another month or so at Joffrey’s doubled rate and Jon would finally be able to move out of his dingy apartment. If you ignored the break-ins and the fact the stove doesn’t work, the place was fine but Jon felt he was getting a little old for a studio. He wanted a bedroom with doors.

So in spite of how bitter it tasted, Jon kept on the case.

He didn’t expect to find anything more than what he had already, so he worked slow, staking out the Baratheon home. Watching to see if maybe when her husband was at work, Mrs. Baratheon would sneak a man into the house. No such luck. After ruling that out, he began to follow her when she went out for the day and he quickly caught on to her routine. Right after Joffrey left in the mornings, Mrs. Baratheon would head to the gym, stay for about an hour. He thought maybe she was carrying on an affair with her trainer, they were very friendly, but that theory was discarded when Jon discovered the man was decidedly not interested in women.

 After her workout, she’d get breakfast at the bakery a few blocks down, preferring to walk even if the weather was foul. Sometimes she was joined by girlfriends, sometimes she ate alone. He noted Sansa only treated herself to sweets when she was by herself. Monkey bread or cinnamon rolls but lemon cakes seemed to be her favorite. Three days a week she would spend her afternoons volunteering at a non-profit. The same animal rescue he'd adopted his dog from. Huh, small world. The other days she would run errands, dropping off dry cleaning, getting groceries, going shopping.

Every day without fail, she found reasons to stay out of the house until exactly 5:30 p.m., arriving back home just before her husband returned from work at 6:00. Every now and again the couple went out for dinner or had friends over for an evening, but mostly the Baratheon household was quiet from 6:00 p.m. until they went to bed at 10:30. And once the lights were out, they were out. Never once did Mrs. Baratheon leave the house at night, a fact confirmed by the GPS tracker hidden under the front bumper of her car.

No matter where he looked, Jon still found no proof of any indecent behavior. All the evidence pointed to Sansa being the perfect little wife. And if Joffrey couldn’t see that, well, maybe he deserved to lose her to someone who would better appreciate her.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon expected Mrs. Baratheon – Sansa – to break down in tears or maybe slap him. It was never easy learning there was no trust left in your marriage. But her eyes didn’t so much as water. Instead, she simply shook her head and muttered, “That bastard,” under her breath.

“Can I ask you, then?” This had already veered so far away from a normal investigation, Jon figured it was worth a shot.

“If I’m cheating on my husband? Shouldn’t you tell me?” she asked playfully. Playful was a weird response to being accused of adultery. Jon prided himself on his ability to read people but this couple was just confusing. Neither of them reacted the way he anticipated to anything. He almost wondered what they were like together but quickly stopped that line of thinking before it got too far. For some reason, he really didn’t want to know.

“Everything I’ve got points to no. I—” Jon wasn’t sure how much he should confess to knowing about her. Keeping it vague seemed best. Thanks to him, she now knew that her marriage was in jeopardy, he should at least let her keep a small sense of privacy. “You’re never anywhere you’re not supposed to be. You don’t talk to people you shouldn’t. Except for right now, of course. Honestly, in all my years doing this, I’ve never seen someone as squeaky clean as you.”

The corners of her lips pulled into a smirk. “Maybe I’m just that good at covering my tracks.”

“Could be but I don’t think that’s it.”

“You’re right." Her smile dropped and she stopped playing. "I’m not now and never have been unfaithful to Joffrey.” Her voice was sure but Jon saw how her fingers anxiously fiddled with her ring. A princess cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones set all along the white gold band, it spoke of more money than taste. The main stone was so large it seemed almost possessive, like a beacon that could been seen a block away telling potential suitors to BACK OFF.

As she toyed with the band, it occurred to Jon that maybe there was no great amount of love lost between husband and wife. The realization raised as many questions as it answered.

“Then help me out because I don’t understand. Why is he so dead-set that I prove you are?”

Her fingers dropped away from her ring. Sansa folded her arms across her chest and answered in a tone that aimed for dismissive but fell short, “I couldn’t say.”  

She can say, Jon thought, she knows why. She just won’t tell. He wondered what it would take to get it out of her, side-eyeing the bottles behind the bar. What the hell, today was a day for breaking rules. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She glanced at her watch, time seeming to be her only reservation. “No… I should be going. I’m already running late, and as you said, I’m never anywhere I’m not supposed to be.”  She hesistated, on the verge of changing her mind, before she grabbed her purse and stood. “Good day, Jon, and I do hope that I _won’t_ be seeing you again.” She turned on her heel and walked out.

Jon was up and after her, following her to her car. “I’m sorry, but as long as he’s paying me, I have to keep at it. I mean no ill will to you, you seem like an upstanding woman, but he expects me to send him pictures and information every other week. I can’t turn up empty-handed.” Not any more empty-handed than usual.

“So you still plan to follow me, even though you know it’s a fool’s errand you’re running.”

“I have to.”  At least until he got the money he needed, another month and he could quit. Jon never failed a case before and he didn’t look forward to ruining his record, but there was nothing more he could do here. Not if she wasn't having an affair and he believed her when she said she wasn't.

“Do what you will then. Just try to get me from my good side,” she said, tapping her left cheek as dropped into the driver's seat and pulled the door shut with a loud thud. Jon stepped away from the vehicle and she peeled out of the small parking lot to return to her paranoid and suspecting husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but next one should pick up a bit more.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

As he said he would, Jon still followed Sansa around her daily activities, though he seemed to abandon any attempts to hide himself from her now. It would be belittling to the both of them, to pretend he wasn’t doing what they both knew he was doing.

The next time Sansa spied him sitting in his car across from her gym, a mischievous thought struck her. Instead of turning right and going to the bakery like always, she turned left. She had no destination in mind but that was the point. If this investigator was really as good as he claimed, he’d catch up with her. She snaked her way through the city streets, turning at random, even doubling back for a few blocks, trying to shake her stalker. When her rumbling stomach told her she couldn’t take another step, Sansa figured she’d gone far enough anyway, she settled in a Starbucks on the corner to get something to eat and to wait for Jon.

It both surprised her and didn’t when he walked up across the street, hands in his pockets, trying to look nonchalant. Jon nodded to her and she couldn’t help the grin that split across her face. When he raised his camera to take a photo, Sansa, on impulse, scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue, ruining his shot with her silly face but she saw his shoulders shake with laughter. Maybe we could have some fun with this, Sansa thought. Jon loitered outside the storefront as she took her time finishing her food, contemplating where to lead him next.

 

After that, it became something of a game to them. On the days Jon followed her, Sansa called off her other plans so that she could lead him on increasingly wild goose chases. At first it was only random locations within walking distance from the gym, twisting and weaving her way around. If only she had Bran’s climbing prowess, she could make this _really_ interesting. No matter where she went, it never took Jon more than fifteen minutes to catch up with her. After taking some time to really think about it, Sansa decided to expand her radius and chose specific destinations throughout the city, leaving behind little clues for him to find. The amusement park, the farmer’s market, the public zoo, anywhere and everywhere. Still he found her every time. At least once he actually beat her to her destination and Sansa is still wondering how.

Most of the time it was easy to forget why they were doing this. At least until he took his camera out. It never failed to spark her irritation, to be reminded why he was chasing her around in the first place, that her no-good husband thought _she_ was the untrustworthy one. As if. But Sansa quickly figured out how to have some fun with that as well. Jon couldn’t very well share his pictures with Joff if it was clear Sansa knew she was being photographed. It defeated the entire purpose. So whenever she caught him shooting her, Sansa would stop and strike a pose, sometimes with a serious pout like a model, other times she’d cross her eyes and puff out her cheeks. Sansa was in tears from laughing so hard when Jon left prints of her silly photos in an envelop on the windshield of her car. _This one’s my favorite_ he scrawled on the back of one. Sansa flipped it over, expecting to find one of her funny faces, but it wasn’t. Jon must have caught her a second just before or after because instead of a grimace she was smiling at the camera, at him. Though she’d always been photogenic, Sansa thought in most pictures her smile never looked quite natural, always a little forced. Especially in the more recent ones. This photo, though, eyes crinkled just a little and just the right amount of teeth, it showed a beauty deeper than skin, something almost radiant. Is this what Jon saw when he looked at her? Her heart did a funny little jump at the thought. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. Maybe it was dangerous to keep the pictures but it never even crossed her mind to throw them out.

 ~

Meanwhile Jon couldn’t help his investigative nature, even if, as Sansa so succinctly put it, he was running a fool’s errand. As he followed her around —it was cute how clever she thought she was, leading him around like this— he would ask little questions here and there, nothing outwardly probing but telling enough. She could see right through him, he knew, but as he played her game, she played his. Sansa would sportingly answer whatever he asked. Almost whatever, anyway. She didn’t mind questions about her family, she gladly told him crazy stories about her friends (half of which he thinks she just made up, there is _no way_ Margaery went streaking down Main Street). Always circling closer to, but never touching, the subject of her husband. But he could always tell when he was getting close to something, because that’s when she’d stop playing, loudly and obviously changing the subject to something else, turning his questions back on him. But that was just fine, Jon was beginning to learn how to read through her silences.

But the more he got to know Sansa, the less he found himself wanting to know about her life with her husband after all. And the more he got to know her husband, the more that feeling was confirmed. It made his head hurt, honestly, trying to figure them out. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Joffrey’s Wife and Sansa were two completely different people, based on the woman he met and the way Joffrey talks.

(Jon had another reason for not wanting to be reminded of her marital status, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. It was absurd how much he looked forward to each new place she led him two, considering they’ve only talked face-to-face the one time. Most of the time, his questions were directed to the back of her head. He didn’t mind so much, if only because he found himself enamored with the fiery cascade of her hair. In the middle of the night, when he was too tired to stop himself, Jon allowed himself to wonder if it was as soft as it looked, if it smelled as sweet as he imagined, like lavender and honey, and _Jesus_ , Snow, get ahold of yourself.)

 

Things changed on the afternoon he followed Sansa to the movies, a run-down, single screen cinema in a forgotten corner of the city. As per his instinct, Jon sat three rows behind her and a little to the left. This was all part of their game, ending up in the same place but never getting too close. Until she got up and disappeared into the lobby. He was about to go after her —had she left him here, gone somewhere else, was he supposed to follow? — when she reappeared, passing him a bag of popcorn as she sat down beside him. Not a row ahead of him, not five seats to the side, but immediately next to him. He could feel her thigh brush up against his and their arms kept bumping against each other as she fought him for the armrest. “You know, I really hate these foreign films,” Sansa whispered in his ear after about twenty minutes of the most mind-numbingly dull High Valyrian dialogue. He couldn’t tell if the protagonist was falling in love or about to commit suicide.

“Oh, thank God, me too. Want to get out of here?”

Sansa nodded, barely visible in the dark, and together they snuck out the theater. They ended up walking through the streets, sharing the popcorn, walking side by side like normal people for a change instead of ten feet apart. It was… weird, but a nice kind of weird. Sansa did keep glancing over her shoulder at him, by force of habit, and her head would snap forward every time he caught her eye and a faint blush would color her cheeks. As if she didn’t expect to find him next to her. Jon would smile to himself whenever he caught her staring.

“Why’d you pick that movie anyway, if you hate it?”

Sansa answered with a shrug. “It was the only one playing. And I wasn’t entirely sure you would follow me in.”

“I think I’ve proven that I’d follow you anywhere. Er, wait, I-” Jon backtracked. That sounded more… _devoted_ than he meant it to. Not that it wasn’t true, but it was his job after all. Right, just for the job, that’s why you left your camera at home. Shut up! “I only meant, I’ve followed you to weirder places, is all.” Smooth, Jon, that sounds _so_ much better.

Sansa rolled her eyes and flicked popcorn at his face, a single shell getting caught in his beard just there. “Going to the docks is different than sitting through three hours of _that_.” She stopped suddenly and stared at him, like she just realized he was there. Jon shifted nervously under her intense gaze, feeling laid bare before her. “You really would’ve sat through that whole thing.”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly. Maybe not awake through it all, but Jon knew he would’ve stayed as long as she did. He was well aware of how pathetic he was, thank you very much. Maybe if he had anything even remotely resembling a social life, he wouldn’t put so much value on following Sansa around like a little duckling, but alas, here he was.

She was still staring at him, her blue eyes wide and her brows creased just a little. It was a little unnerving. A moment later, Sansa blinked and shook whatever the thought was from her head and took a step away from him. Jon hadn’t realized how close together they were standing until she moved away. “I don’t know why you waste your time. I can’t possibly be your only case.”

“No, you’re not.” He told her a bit of his other cases. Most were pretty run of the mill, but a woman had come in a few days before with a case that looked like it could be a unique challenge for him.

_“I thought maybe you could help me find someone,” the woman asked, fiddling with her purse strap. She looked a little anxious to be here._

_“That’s what I do,” Jon said. He offered her a seat which she accepted._

_She gave a nervous little giggle as she sat, bending gracefully with a ladylike tuck of her skirt. “Right, of course. Sorry, I’ve never done this before, hired a detective I mean.”_

_“Don’t worry, most of my clients are first-timers.” Jon moved the files around his desk, he really needed to get more organized, searching for a pen and paper so he could take notes. “So what can you tell me about this person I’m looking for, Miss—?”_

_“It’s Dany, call me Dany. And this is where it gets complicated. I don’t actually know her name.”_

_“It is really hard to find people without names,” Jon agreed. “What do you know about her?”_

_Dany wriggled her nose as she thought it over, trying to figure out the simplest way to tell it. “A few years ago, my older brother had an affair. No, wait, it was more than a few years. Before I was even born, actually, so more like decades ago. I suppose that matters, for your purposes.”_

_“It does, yeah. So you want me to find your brother’s mistress?”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“This isn’t something you can ask him about?”_

_“As a matter of fact, I can’t. He died recently,” she said, letting him know just how rude she found his question. Jon muttered his condolences. “In fact, it was only through his death that we even found out about it. He left something in his will.”_

_“For this mystery woman?”_

_“For her child. Their child.” Dany took an old diary out of her bag, with a few sheets of loose paper tucked in the cover, a copy of the will concerning the affair. “This belonged to him, this is all I know. But, if I have another niece or nephew out there, I want to know them.”_

_Jon understood that feeling. Having never known his own father, he knew what it was like, wondering about this unknown family out there in the world, what were they like, did they want to know him the way he wanted to know them. He became a detective with the intention of getting the answers his mother denied him, but he always chickened out before even starting his search, afraid of hurting his mom’s feelings, afraid of the truth._

_Jon flipped through the diary. This case would definitely be more difficult than anything he’d done before. Based on the dates in the journal, this affair took place almost thirty years ago, pre-digital. This paper trail would actually be made of paper. “I’ll do what I can for you, Dany. But I’ll be honest, if this is all you have, it’s going to be tough.”_

_“He has about a million journals, you can look through them all if you like. I just brought the one to start, I’m pretty sure it’s from the right year.”_

_“Ok, good. I’ll have a look at this and see where that gets us, hm?”_

_“I know it’s a pretty impossible thing I’m asking, but if there’s anything at all I can do to help, feel free to call me.” She passed him a business card with her personal number scribbled on the back. “They say you’re the best in the business, Mr. Snow. I believe in you.”_

Sansa listened patiently while he talked, seeming genuinely interested even though he couldn’t divulge too many details, confidentiality and all that. “If you spend half as much attention on your other cases as you do on mine, then, wow, how do you find time to sleep?” Sansa asked him when he finished.

“Power naps,” Jon said, which won him a laugh from her.

They kept up their aimless trek, chatting idly and walking circles around the same block for what seemed like hours. What _was_ hours, Jon realized, seeing how far the sun had moved down in the sky.

“Hey, isn’t it getting a little late for you?” Jon asked, glancing at the time on his phone. It was well past 5:30, time for her to be heading home.

She waved him off. “It’s fine. Joff’s working late tonight.”

He frowned. “Is that right?” Although there was no solid reason, that just sat wrong with him. Working late.

“Yeah. Is everything ok?” She noticed the strange look that passed over his face.

“No, yeah, it’s, uh…. I just remembered, I’ve got to take care of something. I’ll see you later, ok?” Jon waited just long enough for her to agree, still looking confused, before taking off in the opposite direction. Perhaps he was the paranoid one now, but after spending so much time on the Baratheon case Jon felt that he knew both of them rather well (though in very different capacities) and for all he knew, Joffrey had never worked late before. He drove by Joff’s office building downtown, creeping through the parking garage looking for his obnoxious red sports car, but it wasn’t there. Jon checked top to bottom twice to make sure. But it was definitely _not_ there.

Jon parked and went into the building, making his way to the Storm’s End offices on the 15th floor before really thinking about what he was doing. There were dozens of reasons why Joffrey's car wouldn’t be in the lot. He could be out meeting with a client. Perhaps he took a rideshare to work, maybe his car was in the shop. All plausible but Jon didn’t believe any of them.

The lift stopped and the doors opened to the reception area, large golden letters telling him he was in the right place. Jon walked up to the secretary and asked, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Joffrey Baratheon, is he in?” The words were halfway out of his mouth when the thought struck him; what if he’s actually here? He’ll want to know what the hell Jon wants. He could just say he came to catch him up on the investigation, but he had nothing with him, Joffrey would see right through him! God, he was so stupid.

Thankfully, he was spared when the woman said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Baratheon took the day off. Would you like to leave your name? I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“…the whole day?”

“Mhm,” she said with a smart little nod. “Your name, sir?”

“Uh, no. No message. You don’t need to tell him I was here, ok?” He turned on his heel and left her staring after him as he left the building. He wasn’t supposed to do this, what did it matter to him _why_ someone wanted evidence of their spouse’s affair, but, he’d be lying if he said that in this situation, it hadn’t been nagging at him. Straight from the Storm’s End building to his own much shabbier office, Jon hurried to get to work, swapping his search from one Baratheon to the other. Maybe this, _this_ was the missing piece from his investigation, why Joffrey refused to let this thing go. Why didn’t he realize it sooner? He wanted proof of Sansa’s infidelity to justify his own.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, Val, can I get your advice?” Jon asked, swinging by her desk. It was early enough in the morning that it was just the two of them in the office, which is the only reason Jon forced himself awake on the wrong side of sunrise. Val was an early bird, damn her and her kind, and preferred working in the mornings before everyone came in and interrupted her peace and quiet. Most mornings, Jon gladly let Val have the office to herself, but he had to get her alone. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted their coworkers eavesdropping in on.

“Personal or professional?” She asked, spinning in her chair to face him as he leaned against the edge of her desk.

Both. “Professional. You know that adultery case I’ve been working on for ages?”

“The one with the wife who _isn’t_ having an affair?” Jon nodded. “Ok, what do you need my help with? I thought you already had Tormund double-check your work.”

“I got some new information and I’m not sure what I should do with it.”

“Listen, Jon, it’s cute that you still have a conscience, but if you finally found proof that she’s cheating, just hand it over and be done with it. This case is taking too long as it is.”

“She’s not cheating. He is.”

Jon wondered whatever happened to his ethics. He knew he used to have them, somewhere. Digging around after Joffrey Baratheon, it was inappropriate. But it was too damn easy. You would’ve thought that after Jon had pretty much told him everything investigators look for, Joffrey would’ve bothered to be a little more careful but no. Dirty emails from his work address, motels in the middle of the day, salacious texts… He was practically _begging_ to be found out.

“You didn’t go poking your nose where it didn’t belong, did you?”             

“What kind of person do you think I am?” Don’t answer that. “I was out the other night, saw him with another woman. It was a total coincidence.” If lying really did cause pants to spontaneously combust, well then, the seat of Jon’s trousers was sure to be blackened and scorched from the weight of that lie. “But it doesn’t matter how I found out. The point is I know now.”

From the look on her face, Val didn’t believe his fib either but thankfully, she decided not to call him on his bullshit. “And what advice do you want from me?”

“Do I tell the wife?”

“Absolutely not,” Val said, not taking even a second to think about it.

That wasn’t the response he was hoping for, but there was a reason Jon decided to ask Val in place of anyone else. She was possibly the most straightforward person he’s ever known. Tormund would have just teased Jon about being attracted to Sansa again, was he actively _trying_ to get her divorced now, har! Mance would probably demand he recuse himself from the case or else suspend him entirely. “But why not? Don’t you think she has a right to know?”

Now Val paused, mulling over her words before speaking. “I don’t think it’s about her ‘right’.”

“If Jarl was cheating on you, wouldn’t you want someone to tell you?”

“Yeah, but not by some stranger. Not with an anonymous envelope left in my mailbox.”

I’m not a stranger to her though, but there was no way Jon could tell Val that. It was one thing to get dirt on a client, but fraternizing with a target? Even Val wouldn’t let that slide. He’d have to pack up his desk and be out before lunch. Blacklisted from the profession he’s dedicated himself to since he was a kid. “But you agree she should know?”

“Not from you,” she said firmly. “It is not your job to get involved in people’s relationships.”

“It kind of is, though, isn’t it?” It’s certainly what people paid him for.

“If you think it is, you’re doing it wrong.”

Jon groaned. “I _told_ Mance I hate adultery cases.”

“You know that’s why he gives them to you, right?”

That surprised him. “Really? Why?”

“Because you don’t like blowing up people’s lives. When Orell gets a case like this, he jumps straight in to get the dirty pictures. He actually fucked a woman once just to create evidence. But because you hate the pain this kind of thing causes people, you put a lot more care into it. You’re the only idiot who tries to talk people out of it and when they tell you to do it anyway, you make the blow as soft as possible.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way. I thought Mance just hated me.”

Val laughed. “God, no. Mance loves you. Seriously. He wants you to take over the agency when he retires.”

“Thanks for the talk. It helped.” It hadn’t actually helped nearly as much as Jon had been hoping. Sansa should know, Jon was sure of that, but Val had a point. Who was he to drop this bombshell on her life? Not a complete stranger as Val thought, but what exactly was going on between them? And, if he told her, there was a very real possibility that he would never see her again and Jon wasn’t ready to let that happen yet. Fucking hell, Jon, how selfish can you get? Right, ok, that last one was struck from the list of reasons not to tell her. But still, he didn’t want to be the one to hurt her.

“That’s what I’m here for, cleaning up after you boys.” Val popped her earbud back in and turned her attention back to her computer screen.

Jon took her dismissal and wandering back to his own desk, making a brief detour at the coffee pot to refill his mug. Since he was already in the office, he might as well try to get some of his own work done and he needed something to get his mind of the Baratheons. He sat down with Dany’s brother’s journal, he’d only given it a brief perusal since she gave it to him, too busy playing games with Sansa instead. One glace at the page and Jon remembered why he’d been putting it off. Rhaegar has the smallest, most cramped handwriting he’s ever seen. If Jon stared at it too long, it gave him a headache. Reluctantly, he slipped on his reading glasses and settled in to decipher this scratch. 

> _…I thought I was doing the right thing. We were healing together, things were getting better. But what is a marriage without honesty? I felt like I had to come clean about everything, I needed to tell her the truth in order for us to move on. Instead, things have come to a crashing halt. She kicked me out of ~~my own GODDAMN house~~ the house. She changed the ~~fucking~~ locks, no doubt that her bastard of a brother told her to… What right does that whoremonger have to judge me?? The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fidelity’…_

> _…I regret the pain I’ve caused my wife, I do, but I cannot say_ _I regret a moment spent in_ [here the page was smudged, as if he’d written a name and crossed it out] **_her_** _company. It’s insane, I know, **she**_ _lied to me, every day, but I can’t help but feel like **she** was my soulmate. I know what El thinks, what Oberyn must be telling her, but it was more than just lust that pulled us together. It had to be more… _

He was glad that Dany handed over the journals, but it was foolish to hope that the answer would be printed in black and white on page one. This was frustrating, Rhaegar only referred to the mistress as **_she_** , but who was ** _she_**? Was he being deliberately cagey or did Rhaegar actually not know **_her_** name? One night stand with a stranger, sure, but how do you carry on a year-long affair without exchanging names? Perhaps if he had an earlier diary, the one Dany had given him was after things ended with the other woman by a few months, maybe even as long as a year after. Entries written as it was ongoing might give him more to go off of. He sent a quick email to Dany, asking for her to send the other journals at her earliest convenience.

Jon looked at the writing again. He knew his focus was supposed to be on the mystery woman, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Elia. Rhaegar wrote as if he was surprised that his wife would be upset to learn about his affair,  like her reaction was unreasonable and he was the wronged party. Screw this guy, honestly. His wife was home alone with two small children while he was running around with his lover. Yeah, infants are stressful but that’s not an excuse for him to do what he did. And he _really_ expected Elia to forgive him and believe it’ll never happen again after he’d lie to her for upwards of  _two years?_ No, he should’ve known that getting kicked out of their shared home was the very least that would happen. He broke her trust and probably her heart, he deserved a lot more than a few weeks living out of a motel.

Jon wondered, would it have hurt less if she’d found about out it earlier? What if Rhaegar had never told her at all, would they have been able to repair their marriage? Or did this sort of thing corrupt from the inside out, impossible to move on from, whether she knew or not?

He found himself wishing he could’ve helped her, somehow. Reach through the past and warn her, spare her some pain. But as he thought of her, he kept picturing red hair and eyes the color of the morning sky… It wasn’t Elia he was thinking of, it was Sansa. Damn it, so much for distraction…

Jon closed the diary with a snap and tossed it to corner of his desk. This was dangerous territory he was getting himself into. He _cared_ about Sansa and that was putting it mildly. To the point it was interfering with his work.  Besides the cheating husband, these two cases didn’t have a lot in common and it wasn’t even the affair itself he was supposed to be investigating here. This was a missing persons case, he needed to focus on finding **_her_** , not daydreaming about a woman he could never have.

Jon took a break, a walk around the block, played a few hands of solitaire, anything to clear his mind so he could get back to work. Nope, nothing helped. As soon as he sat back down, there she was, in the forefront of his mind. Damn it. Knowing when he was beat, Jon decided to give it up. He couldn’t put in the care and attention Dany’s case needed right now and he wasn’t going to half-ass this. Maybe when he got his hands on the other diaries, but until then, he shoved everything back in its folder and shoved it in his desk drawer. He wandered over to help Tormund do some mind-numbingly routine background checks.

It helped, the busy work and listening to Tormund bawdy stories. At least he stopped beating himself up about whether or not to tell Sansa about her husband’s affair. Val was probably right after all, she was one of those irritating people who were just always right. It wasn’t Jon’s place to tell Sansa anything. She hadn’t hired him for this, she didn’t ask, she doesn’t want to know. He'd already told her too much, letting her know she was being investigated. What good would telling her about Joffrey do, since she already knew the trust between them had run out. Having resolved his dilemma, Jon was able to think about his other cases again, and he was glad to see that Dany had emailed him back, inviting him to come by and collect whatever journals he needed. He responded to her, he’d pick them up tomorrow if that worked with her schedule, when a new email popped into his inbox.

 _[What the fuck does it take to get you to do your job? I’m running out of patience with you, Snow._  
_I know she’s fucking around with other men, and you know it too, so where’s my goddamn proof?_  
_You’d better have something good for me when we meet Friday._

_–J Baratheon]_

How was it possible that Joffrey proved himself to be more of an ass with every interaction? Surely there has to be some asshole ceiling, some upper limit that he should’ve hit by now.

Fuck it.

He has to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'm still trying to figure out how to balance Jon's investigation and JonxSansa stuff.
> 
> This really wasn't supposed to be some long drawn out slowburn, but we're getting there, I swear.


	6. Chapter 6

_‘I’d follow you anywhere’_ he’d said. He meant it too, Sansa saw it in his eyes. Or, she thought that’s what she saw, but he ran off so suddenly and Sansa hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since. She couldn’t help feeling, did I do something wrong? It seemed natural to her, right even, to stop messing around, to just be _normal._ And they were having a good time of it, at least she was enjoying herself. She thought he was too. But she went and mentioned Joffrey and Jon got that weird look on his face, then he was gone. And stayed gone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she have to go and ruin things?

Margaery snapped her fingers inches in front of Sansa’s face. “Helloo! Sansa, are you in there?”

Sansa blinked rapidly, pulled from her thoughts, and smacked her hand away. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Sorry, but you were getting all spacey on me. What is up with you lately?” They were sitting at their usual table outside the bakery, enjoying the warm summer breeze. It had been too long since they’ve done this,  Sansa cancelled on Margaery at least twice in the past month to go running around with Jon instead. “I have barely seen you in weeks and now when I’ve finally got you, you can’t even pay attention.”

“I’m listening, Mags.”

“Uhuh, what did I just say?”

“Um…” Margaery had been prattling on about… something. Loras, maybe? That was always a safe bet.

“Sansa!”

“Sorry!”

“Ok, fine, since we’re clearly not going to talk about my thing, tell me what’s on your mind.” Margaery crossed her arms with a huff and stared Sansa down.

Sansa was aching to tell someone about Jon, she’s never been any good at keeping secrets. Besides, how could she organize her scattered thoughts about this whole thing without talking about it? But as soon as Margaery knew Joff hired a detective to tail her, she would try to give Sansa that divorce lawyer’s number again and Sansa did _not_ want to repeat that conversation. “It’s nothing, really.”

“You know, you are the most awful liar.”

There was that glint of fierce determination in her eyes which Sansa knew meant that it was coming out one way or another. “Alright, I’ve sort of been…” What was the word to describe it? Not _seeing someone_ , that implied too much. Could she call Jon her friend, is that any more accurate? “There’s… this guy, Jon. It’s not like that!” Sansa exclaimed as Margaery raised her eyebrows suggestively. “We just kept running into each other so we kind of started talking, and I don’t know… He’s nice to talk to.”

“So tell me about this _Jon_. Is he hot?” Margaery rested her cheek in the palm of her hand and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

“Margaery!” Sansa squealed.

“What? You have eyes, don’t you?”

“I told you, it’s not like that.”

Margaery was always trying to get Sansa to people-watch with her, which was code for ogling strangers. Normally Sansa used the ‘I’m happily married’ excuse, to which Margaery would reply that there’s no harm in looking. It didn’t escaped Margaery’s notice that Sansa skipped her usual line today. With a coy smile, she said, “I just want to know if he’s good-looking, I didn’t ask if you were fucking him.”

Sansa choked on her food, coughing hard even after Margaery smacked her on the back to revive her. At least she could blame the redness of her cheeks on lack of oxygen instead of a blush. Yeah, sure, Jon was _objectively_ attractive, Sansa wasn’t going to deny it, even if he was a little outside her usual type. But… now that Margaery put the idea of _fucking_ in her head, she was assaulted with visions, unable to stop herself from picturing it. His perfect full lips pressed against hers, the light scratch of his beard against her neck, his strong hands holding her hard against him as they moved in tandem… Sansa pinched her thigh to prevent her mind from wandering too far.

“I suppose some people might find him handsome,” she tried to say off-handedly, once she’d recovered the ability to speak. “But it doesn’t matter, I think I scared him off.”

Margaery scoffed. “Oh, yeah, you’re about as big and scary as a bunny rabbit.”

“It just, I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks and that’s… a bit unusual for us. I’m afraid I might have done something that made him a little uncomfortable.”

“What did you do?”

All I wanted was to stop playing silly games, she thought sadly. He must not have felt the same. Idiot, of course he doesn’t feel the same! She lost sight of the truth, that she was nothing more than a job to him. He doesn’t care. It shouldn’t hurt this much, who was he to her anyway? It did hurt though, but how could she explain that to Margaery without divulging too much? “I misinterpreted some things and I think that maybe…” Sansa sighed, unsure how to even finish the thought.

“I’m sure you can explain that whatever you did, you didn’t mean to.”

“You know, it doesn’t even matter. He was just some guy, practically a stranger. I don’t know why I let him get into my head so much.” It was stupid. Even now, she kept looking over Margaery’s shoulder, waiting for him to come sauntering up the street with that cheeky little smile on his face. But, no, Jon wasn’t coming and who knows if he ever would again? And so what if she never sees him again, that can only be a good thing. It means Joffrey’s given up on his idiotic quest to prove her non-existent affair and that is definitely good. It is good. Why didn’t that make Sansa feel any better? “I’ve been so self-centered lately, I’m sorry. What did you want to talk about?”

Margaery gave Sansa another soft look before taking Sansa’s invitation to change the conversation. “I’ve been trying to tell you. Grandmother’s agreed to add my expansion to the Gardens, but only if I can raise the money myself. So I need you to help me with a fundraiser.”

“The bee-friendly garden, right?”

Of course. That has been Margaery’s latest pet project. Flowers were always her passion. Being born a Tyrell, the family who owned the largest public gardens in the area, it was practically a genetic condition. In school, she studied botany and horticulture, there really was no other option for her. Naturally this meant she was fully aware of the significance of the honeybees’ place in the ecosystem. No bees, no life. As the statistics grew increasingly more dire, Margaery took it upon herself to fight for the insects. Currently, that meant convincing her grandmother to expand Highgarden to accommodate more bee-friendly plants and establish a few hives of their own.

“Yes! I have everything planned out, but I can’t raise the money by myself. So will you help me or not?”

“I’m in, what do you need me to do?”

That was all the prompting Margaery needed to launch into an enthusiastic ramble about her ideas to raise the money for her cause. She was vivacious and energetic and Sansa found herself easily consumed by Margaery’s schemes. (“Should it be a black tie event or do you think we’d get a better response if we did a charity 5k?”) The pair spent the rest of the afternoon, heads bent together as they pared their way down from a general concept to a detailed plan. Margaery provided such a thorough distraction that all thoughts of Jon completely slipped Sansa’s mind.

Until she saw him loitering by her car at the end of the day. When he raised his head and met her eye across the lot, Sansa let out a startled, “What are you doing here!” Not that she wasn’t glad too see him, but what _was_ he doing here?

He looked unusually grim as she approached. She spied a manila envelope in his right hand, held half-way behind him as if he meant to hide it from her. But after a couple of nervous taps against his thigh, he made up his mind and held it out to her.

“What’s this?” She asked as she took the envelope from his hand.

“I, uh, found something out. Sorry, no, I didn’t just _find_ it. I did some digging and uncovered it. I shouldn’t have and I debated whether or not I should tell you, but I think you have a right to know.”

Sansa glanced between Jon’s guilty face and the envelope. What awful thing did he discover? She tore the flap and opened it up. Inside were a dozen or so printed emails and a handful of photographs, a blond head leaning into a brunette, a bare back pressed against a window. Joffrey and the new Storm’s End intern, screwing in his office. Sansa shook her head and handed the envelope back to him. “And?”

Sansa watched his face change from surprise to dawning realization. “You already know.”

“I had my suspicions. Joff has many qualities, but subtlety is not one of them.” Sansa guessed something was going on between them. Betha called way too often for an intern and Joff never took her calls in his home office… But even so, Sansa was surprised at her own lack of reaction. Maybe she was an ice queen after all, shouldn’t catching her husband in flagrante stir something more than mild irritation in her? It wasn’t a heartbreaking betrayal exactly, Sansa realized some time ago that she’d fallen out of love with Joffrey. But she remained faithful despite that, she held to those vows they made, would it have killed him to offer her the same courtesy?

“I’m sorry, Sansa,” Jon said. “I shouldn’t have involved myself, this wasn’t any of my business… I’ll call Joffrey tomorrow and quit the case.”

“What, why?” Sansa asked before realizing that of course he should quit. He should have quit after their first confrontation and definitely should’ve stopped when there was no evidence to support Joffrey’s preposterous notion. But he still came around day in and day out and Sansa was forced to admit that she didn’t want him to go.

Jon looked at her with a puzzled expression. “There’s nothing left for me to do here.”

“There’s me.” Feeling bold, Sansa reached out and took his hand in her own. It was warm and rough and molded into her hand perfectly. “I’ve enjoyed your company these past few weeks, Jon.”

“I, uh… Me too.” There was an nervous quaver in his voice as he spoke but his hand held on to hers more firmly and his thumb made a sweeping pass over her knuckles. Such a small motion shouldn’t send a tingle down her spine but it does anyway. It’s only Margaery’s teasing from earlier, still echoing in her head, that makes her drop her hold.

“So, uhm, I was planning on going to the art museum on Friday. That is, if you’re still…”

“I’ll be there.”


	7. Chapter 7

Things were different now. Even as he climbed the steps to the art museum, before he even saw her, Jon could feel it; whatever it was between them had changed. It should’ve scared him, should’ve made him stay at home or quit this case… But it didn’t. If anything, it excited him. The past few days, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the clock, just counting down the hours until Friday, till he got to see her again.

Val had him pegged in an instant. “Got a hot date, Snow?”

“Something like that.” To explain it would be complicated and to deny it would only invite more harassment from the rest of their coworkers. And working in an office full of P.I.s, well, if someone wanted to uncover his secret, it’d take all of ten minutes. Better not to pique their curiosities.

Their curiosities were piqued anyway, it’d been a long time since Jon had gone out with anybody, but a couple lies about a dating app and they were off his back. _Should’ve put a little more thought into my cover story,_ Jon thought, as he waited for Sansa in the atrium. _What was the name of my ‘date’ again? Marissa? Melissa?_ The name of his fictional girl didn’t matter when the real one was approaching with that stop-traffic smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Jon said. “I’m going to tell you right now. I’m not much of an art guy, so you’ll have to help me out here.”

Sansa laughed, “Good thing I was an art history major in college then. C’mon.” She grabbed him by the wrist, that spark was only static electricity, that’s all, and she pulled him through the large glass doors.

Not that he ever would’ve said anything to her and spoil her good mood, but Jon fully expected the art museum to be as boring, if not more so, than that awful foreign film. He didn’t know the first thing about art. The only artists he knew shared names with Ninja Turtles and he didn’t think Sansa would be impressed with that little bit of trivia.

But Sansa was not to be underestimated. Sure, yeah, at the beginning she got carried away with her enthusiasm, passionately gushing over the works. And while her already stunning eyes lit up with interest, Jon couldn’t even pretend to keep up with her. He nodded his head and mhm’d through the conversation as best he could, but in retrospect, he could’ve been more convincing.

“Jon, I can see your eyes glazing over.”

“They’re not, I swear.” Sansa gave him an I-don’t-believe-you look and he had to concede. “Ok, yeah, a little bit.”

“We can go, if you want. Do something else.” The offer was genuine but Jon could see that she didn’t really want to go. And he didn’t either. Even if he didn’t understand half the words she was saying, just watching her come alive with passion was not something he wanted to miss out on.

“It’s fine, Sansa. You’re just talking a little over my head.”

“Ok, right, I’ll tone it down.”

To her credit, she did manage to reign her excitement in. Instead of raving about the pieces herself, she would instead ask Jon what he thought. It only took a couple repetitions of “Uh, it’s… nice” for Sansa to realize he had not been exaggerating his hopelessness. Not one to be deterred, she tried a different method to engage him. “What do you think’s happening in this one?” It was a silly game but easier than trying for form an opinion on something he knew nothing about. And the stories they made up together got particularly wild when they got to the surrealism exhibit. While Jon was describing a world in which tuba-headed elephants ran wild across the savannah, Sansa’s giggles got so loud that they were shushed by a gallery employee.

~

Things had definitely changed. From that day on, they abandoned any pretense that this was only about the job anymore. There were no more chases around the city, no more snapping photos across the street, but deliberate, predetermined meetings. Sometimes Sansa would pick a location, sometimes Jon, but neither had to wonder if the other would show up or when.

They devised a system to communicate. Jon knew very well he couldn’t just call Sansa up and ask her out. He was still passing Sansa’s phone records over to Joffrey and introducing a new regular caller would strike up suspicions. So instead of untrustworthy electronic communications, when Sansa wanted to see Jon, she would leave a note on the windshield of her car, and when he wanted to reach her, he’d leave a message at her bakery, usually accompanied with a sugary treat. Jon took other cares to avoid catching any unwanted attention, not that he let on to Sansa. By now, he was well acquainted with her routines, and so he made sure to avoid any placed she regularly frequented. If the wrong person saw them together, if someone told Joffrey that Sansa had been seen hanging around with another man… Jon did not want to find out what consequences that would have.

But it was a big enough city, they found plenty to do without the risk of being caught by anyone in the Baratheon’s social circle. After a few turns around town, they even found some regular haunts of their own, safe places where they could while away an afternoon with absolute confidence of privacy. Sansa’s foreign film theater for one, another was a hipster coffeehouse a few blocks away from his apartment building, far enough away from the office that his coworkers aren’t likely to swing by for a midafternoon pick-me-up. Sansa’s people weren’t the only ones they needed to steer clear of.

But it’d been a few weeks now and their sanctuaries held true. Jon’s coworkers all still believed his fib about the dating app and Joffrey was no more suspecting than usual. As long as Jon kept Joffrey off their trail and his coworkers distracted (apparently the name of his fake date had been ‘Alys’, boy had he been off) then there was no reason why he and Sansa couldn’t keep spending time together.

“Jon? Are you alright?” Sansa asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, just… frustrated with this case.” Jon gestured to Rhaegar’s journal, spread open on his lap. Today was a coffeehouse day, the weather outside was too bleak and rainy for anything else. Sansa sat beside him on the old sofa in the back, playing scrabble against herself while Jon tried to work. That was the nice thing about this arrangement, as much as they enjoyed being together, they were both comfortable enough not to need constant chatter. Sansa would bring a book of her own or play cards and Jon could sit beside her and get some work done. Most of the time, it was easier this way than trying to get anything accomplished in the office.

“The Mystery of the Missing Mistress?” Sansa had taken to naming his cases. The closer it sounded to a Hardy Boys book, the better.

“Yeah.” Jon had finally gotten a name for the other woman -Barbrey- but that turned out to be false. She’d lied about her name to Rhaegar when they met and it wasn’t until the relationship ended that he found out he’d been duped. That little bit of information found between four separate journals. God, Rhaegar Targaryen wrote a lot. Jon assumed that immediately following the revelation that the woman’s name wasn’t in fact Barbrey, Rhaegar would’ve followed up with _her name turned out to be—_ but no such luck.

That’s not to say he was entirely without leads. He knew the name of the bar were they met, in a city four hours away. Rhaegar had rented an apartment for them to use, the Tower of Joy, because he couldn’t very well take his mistress home and apparently her place wasn’t a viable option either. And, though Dany had told him not to contact Rhaegar’s children, she hadn’t forbade him from contacting other members of the family. He wanted to talk to Elia herself, but it’d only taken a quick search to find out she’d died of a congenital illness almost a decade ago. However, from all of Rhaegar’s accounts, she had been very close with her brother Oberyn. If she had shared what she knew of the affair with him, then reaching Oberyn would be the next best thing. He’d sent an email out two weeks ago and was still awaiting a reply.

“It’s just… how am I supposed to find this kid if I can’t even find the mother? I’m not entirely convinced there is a kid to find at all. Rhaegar only mentions the possibility in his will. I’ve read over their break up about a hundred times and there’s no mention of a pregnancy.”

“Maybe he didn’t find out till later,” Sansa shrugged and laid another word across the scrabble board.

“I suppose…” Jon agreed, though that meant he would probably have to read every single page Rhaegar had written in his life. He’d been to Dany’s house, he saw the shelves full of journals. That was not an enticing prospect… “All the more reason I need to just find the Missing Mistress. She’ll be able to tell me if she’s had a kid or not.”

“But you’re not going to find her today.” Sansa pulled the journal off his lap and set it, closed, on the coffee table. “You’re going to give yourself a headache. Take a break and play a game with me.”

Jon made a half-hearted protest but he could already feel the tension building behind his eyes. How could she always tell? Sansa smiled when he caved and passed him a tray full of letters. They passed the rest of that rainy afternoon embroiled in a two-man scrabble tournament (that she trounced him at), until the 5:30 alarm on her phone rang. God, Jon hated that sound. As she packed up her things, Jon almost asked why she always had to be there when Joffrey got home from work, but that would violate their unspoken agreement not to bring him up. This entire arrangement only worked if they could both forget, for just a few hours, that she was married.

God, he wished she wasn’t married.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! I was a little stumped about how to continue and it was easier not to think about it than to force it, but we're back now!

After hearing nothing for weeks, finally Elia’s brother, Oberyn, responded to Jon’s email asking to talk. Neither particularly wanted to communicate such a sensitive subject over email, so Oberyn invited Jon to meet in person. Which meant crossing half the country to meet at some private estate called the Water Gardens. It was probably the fanciest place Jon had ever been in and he felt completely out of place from the moment he walked through the door.

“You must be the one writing the book about Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Hired to write Rhaegar’s biography, that was his cover story. An inconspicuous reason to be asking such nosy questions. “Yes. Jon Snow. I’m glad we finally got in touch.” Jon offered his hand to shake but Oberyn ignored the gesture and led Jon out to the veranda, overlooking a series a pools that could put a small ocean to shame.

“Do you drink, Mr. Snow?” Without giving him a second to answer, Oberyn pressed a glass of warm amber liquid into Jon’s hand and invited him to sit. “I don’t know what you think I can tell you about Rhaegar. We haven’t spoke in years.”

“That’s fine. It’s his marriage to your sister that I really want to know about. Dany, his sister, gave me his journals to study, but that only tells his side of the story. I want to capture Elia a little more as she actually was, you understand?”

Oberyn smiled at that, seems he said the right thing to get on his good side. He was glad to have an excuse to talk about his sister, he was lit up and animated, telling stories from their childhood, although Jon did have to remind him once or twice that it was really her relationship with Rhaegar that he was interested in. Oberyn was less enthused to discuss his once brother-in-law but Jon managed to get him there. He didn’t really need to know that their mothers set them up, or how Rhaegar proposed with a horse drawn carriage and a string quartet, that they tried so long Elia was concerned they might never have children, and then, surprise! Little Rhaenys came along, but  Jon listened patiently until Oberyn got to the affair. “The second pregnancy was very difficult for her. She was on bedrest nearly the entire time. I don’t know how Rhaegar portrayed himself during this time, but I was there with her. He was not.”

Rhaegar had written about this. He’d been concerned about his wife’s health, but more than that, he wrote about his own mounting stress levels. It was during this period that the affair began, as near as Jon could guess with the timeline he had.

“We should’ve known all along. I never trusted him, but Elia, she still loved him. Didn’t want to see the truth staring her in the face.”

“That he was cheating on her?” Jon offered, seeing his opening to move the conversation where he needed it to go.

Oberyn grunted in confirmation.

“How did she find out?”

“He told her. When Elia realized how estranged they’d become, that he was spending most of his nights away from home, really, why she didn’t see that as a red flag, I’ll never understand, she insisted on marriage counseling for the both of them. She never wanted a divorce, never one to give up without a fight, my El. Rhaegar agreed and it seemed to work for a few months, he started spending more time at home with Elia and the children. He was turning himself around. I can’t remember a time when she was happier. But Rhaegar wasn’t made to be happy.”

“So he confessed.”

“While they were out celebrating their anniversary. Rhaegar had quite the timing, cruel bastard.”

“Ouch.”

“Indeed.”

“What all— how much did he tell her?” What Jon really needed to know.  _A name, please, just her name._

“Enough that she could’ve had him arrested if she were a more vindictive person.”

“Adultery isn’t a crime.”

“But fucking high school girls is.”

“A teenager?” That was a piece of information Rhaegar definitely hadn’t written down. “But- I thought they met in a bar.”

“You’ve never heard of fake I.D.s? Such things were much easier back then before all these computers.”

Jon supposed that made sense. In fact, that bit alone answered a lot of questions. Why she gave a false name and wouldn’t have corrected it, why they met at a neutral apartment instead of her own place, she probably still lived with her parents. Could you imagine bringing your 30-year-old, married, father of two, boyfriend to a school formal? “What else did Rhaegar say about this woman? -The girl?”

“That he didn’t know she was so young, as if anyone believed that. He said he ended it the moment he found out. All those other clichés, it was a mistake, he was weak, it’ll never happen again. I’m sure you know how this goes.”

Jon knew all too well. All those things people say when they know they’ve been caught doing wrong and rarely did anyone actually mean it. Not for the first time, Jon found himself sympathizing with Elia.

They kept talking well into the evening, but nothing else Oberyn told him was as useful as the Missing Mistress’s age. Jon pressed for more information, any chance Rhaegar told Elia  _which_  high school the girl attended, the names of any of her friends, anything that could help identify her, but Oberyn had nothing more to give him. If he’d ever known it, the memory was lost over the course of time.

Jon had travelled all this way and he had hoped it would be for a little bit more. It was foolish, he knew, to expect that one man held all the answers he was looking for, but he walked away feeling like there ought to have been something else he could’ve gotten out of him. Not that Jon would let this discourage him. He knew more now than he did before, this trip wasn’t a waste. He could do this. He would find her yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's all Jonsa, promise.


	9. Chapter 9

These days with Jon were important to her. No, important wasn’t the right word. It fit, but it didn’t carry the right weight, the right intention. But she didn’t linger on it, if she thought about it too long, she felt… well, she didn’t have the word for that feeling either. She liked his company, that was enough, she preferred it. The days she spent with Jon were the highlight of her entire week, and every evening when she left him, she was already planning out when they could meet again. Jon must’ve felt the same, it seemed like every other day, a lemon cake was waiting for her at the bakery with a little note tucked under the napkin. She wondered if that was intentional, if he was trying to condition her to associate him with sweet things. Sneaky bastard.

 

Jon had been gone for a week, only eight days, following a lead for his Missing Mistress case, but it felt like longer. Since they started seeing each other like this, they hardly went so long without talking. This was good for Jon, he’d been stumped on this case long enough and deserved a big break, but that didn’t make Sansa itch for his company any less. When she walked into the bakery and saw the lemon cake waiting for her, _finally_ , Sansa could barely suppress her smile. She didn’t even bother with the treat, as soon as she saw where he wanted to meet, she was out the door.

He was waiting for her on the park bench, one of their frequent meeting spots. He grinned when he saw her approach and Sansa honestly felt like giggling like she was a fourteen year old girl again. Something about Jon just made her feel giddy, that feeling without a name (that she refused to name) that fluttered in her tummy. It was the way he looked at her, appreciative like staring at a sunset or a work of fine art. The way that, when they walked together, his fingers would always brush against hers, like any second he would take her hand. And the one time he dared to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering at her cheek, his eyes boring into hers... God, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt like this.

“When did you get back?” she asked as she took the seat beside him.

“Late last night.”

“And the first thing you wanted to do was see me?”

She meant it as a tease but there wasn’t a bit of irony when he replied, “Absolutely.”

Sansa tried not to let herself get worked up over a single word, so to distract them both, she asked about his trip. “How did it go? You met with the ex-wife’s brother, right?”

“Oberyn Martell. He was quite a piece of work.”

“Did he know anything about the Missing Mistress?”

“Not as much as I hoped, but I did learn something that might help.”

“Tell me everything.” Sansa settled in next to him, listening with rapt attention.

 

Jon got carried away telling Sansa all that he learned from Oberyn Martell and Sansa was so enthralled listening that neither noticed the clouds roll in. When they sat down, it was clear skies and bright sunshine. By the time Jon got to the part where Oberyn invited him out for drinks, with the not-so-subtle intention of introducing him to one or two of his daughters (Sansa scowled adorably at that), the sky had darkened and with no more preamble than a crack of thunder, the downpour began.

It was chivalrous, but in vain, Jon threw an arm across her shoulders, as if that would keep the rain from soaking her through to the skin, and together they ran for the nearest overhang for shelter. They stood crowded together in a doorframe, there was only about a foot to stand underneath. Jon gallantly pressed Sansa into the corner to keep her dry as he took the rainfall down his back.

Sansa was suddenly aware of how close they were. His nose was practically bumping hers as he tried to keep himself out of the heavy rain. One arm braced against the wall beside her head, the other hovering near her hip. She caught his eye and the laughter stopped in an instant. They were close, too close, not close enough. Her heart and lips decided to kiss him long before her brain did, but her brain could go to hell right now, Jon felt too good. So so good under her attentions.

And he kissed her back, _thank god_ , he kissed her back, otherwise she might’ve died from sheer mortification right there on the stoop.

“My place is around the corner,” Jon said between heavy breaths when they managed to pull apart. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her lips, his offer wasn’t entirely honorable. “We could wait out the rain. Dry off and get warm.”

Her traitorous brain was sending out warning sirens, this isn’t the kind of girl you are, but her body won out and she nodded. Just once, but it was enough. Jon took her by the hand -what was this ‘get warm’ nonsense he mentioned because couldn’t he tell that she was burning through her skin?- and they sprinted down the block to Jon’s building.

 

Out of the rain in Jon’s small apartment, the reality was settling in. Sansa was only vaguely aware of Jon talking, an offer of a dry change of clothes while he tossed her wet things in the dryer, but it didn’t register. The only thing she could think about was the fact that she _kissed_ Jon. She was married and she kissed a man who wasn’t her husband. And went home with him, knowing that it could very well lead to more, that she wanted it to, they both did.

“Sansa?” Jon’s voice came from behind her, close enough she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. His hand was at her nape, fingers slowly pulling at the zipper of her dress. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sansa turned to face him. His pupils were dilated, his desire evident, but Sansa absolutely believed he would be true to his word. If she said stop, it would all be over, no questions asked. “I don’t want you to stop.” It only took a shrug of her shoulders to dislodge her dress, falling in a damp puddle around her feet. _This is it_ , Sansa thought as Jon swept her up into his arms, _there’s no going back from this_. But at this moment, Sansa couldn’t care. She wanted this, she wanted Jon, and she would have him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing this by ear, I don't have a ton plotted out so thoughts and ideas are extra-appreciated.
> 
> *Title taken from The Police song 'Every Breath You Take'
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://jeynewesterling.tumblr.com)!!!


End file.
